


the flowers of good and evil

by eraserheadbaby



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Garden of Avalon: Glorious After Image (Drama CD)
Genre: Dreams, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraserheadbaby/pseuds/eraserheadbaby
Summary: How many times will the ballerina dutifully perform her dance before she realizes she's just going in circles around herself?No matter: he will sit tight and watch the show until the bitter end.
Relationships: Merlin | Caster/Artoria Pendragon Lily | Saber, Merlin | Caster/Artoria Pendragon | Saber
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	the flowers of good and evil

Flowers, an honest cascade of them. White, pink and blue, they meld into an airy duvet to tuck away the diaphanous nothingness, the seams of this dreamscape.

Merlin, much as he admires the flowers, can't really track their origin; he only knows that they seemingly like following him every chance they get, even though there are definitely better accompaniments to flowers out there than some graceless man-shaped creature. Are they real, or are they illusions? Are they part of the dream he cast, or is this reality sneaking in through its cracks?

So many possibilities. All equally insignificant to Merlin.

Not sharing his opinion is Artoria, who looks positively enthralled with the scenery. Or, rather, it's not really accurate to say she looks the part, her smile too guarded to communicate anything more than agreeable neutrality. Merlin, though, knows that's the most she can afford to show.

No, that's not entirely true either. It's really the most she is capable of even showing anymore.

Her eagle eyes can see right through these swindling flowers. Yet the petals in her handful are treated like feathers of the smallest, neediest bird.

Maybe it is in her nature to treasure fantasies and unreachable ideals. Maybe it is the human in her making her so.

Not that Merlin is in any way knowledgeable about human traits, mind you.

“This is… truly beautiful. But I can't help feeling like it's wrong to be here”. Artoria's voice, steady as ever, is powerful enough to shatter the dream's fake quiet.

“How so?”, Merlin asks, neither because he doesn't know the answer, nor because he particularly cares.

“A king has no right to keep such beauty to himself. I shouldn't be here until everyone else can too.”

Little does she know, by wishing her people could enter Merlin's creation, she just wished they would all get their dreams and essence absorbed. 

“And what if I said that I wanted only you to see this?”

And what if he also said that this special invitation isn't really a good thing, like she might assume from his words? Eh, some other time, maybe.

Artoria puffs an exasperated exhale. “Is that supposed to flatter me? I'd just have to lecture you on being more responsible and less of a hopeless charmer.”

“The pupil lecturing the master? You wound me.”

What a conversation they're having, the very definition of pointless. Maybe that's why it's so sudden when Artoria next pounces on Merlin with iron-heavy words, too heavy to be coming out of her small body.

“I won't let anyone stop me from becoming the king I have to become. Not even you.”

She has her back vulnerably exposed to him as she says this, and he can't see her face or her eyes. Her prancing legs and her proudly fisted palms are enough for Merlin to tell how serious she is.

Why, he's almost scared. Though, really, Artoria should know better than to waste her breath on such unproductive warnings. 

Why would the man that threw her first in the abyss of fate ever stop her from reaching the bottom of her free fall?

Air doesn't flow normally in this altered reality, but Artoria's dress bends to its will anyway; it sways in a titillating wave, shaping the skirt into that flower he so likes to see, a flower whose beauty even the petals all around him would envy.

The flower of white silks and frills stays in his eyes even as Artoria walks further, further into the light, further away from the dream and further back into reality. Back where she has convinced herself to be, even though her mind is infested with things only dreams like this could ever give her.

How many times will the ballerina dutifully perform her dance before she realizes she's just going in circles around herself? 

No matter: he will sit tight and watch the show until the bitter end.


End file.
